


sunrise ('cause i've been scared all along)

by rosewitchx



Series: "it's a hoot that you don't get why we need this." [15]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Awesome Pepper Potts, BAMF Pepper Potts, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Black Mirror References, Bruises, Bucky is once more a fashion icon, Canonical Character Death, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Denial, Depression, Dubious Science, Episode: s03e04 San Junipero, Extremis Pepper Potts, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Genocide, Hydra, Injury Recovery, Intoxication, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Millennial Bucky, Multi, Past Brainwashing, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Refugees, Rescue, Science Bros, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Starbucks, Steve Rogers is Dumb, Time Travel, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, does it count as survivor guilt if they're dead, i killed pepper. sue me, i think if ur dead u kinda have the right to be depressed, oo baby do u know what that's worth, oo heaven is a place on uhhh a jewel, peter does the mr everyone thing because i find it super cute, peter understands that reference and wants to die, probably!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, sam also spends a lot of time talking to a wall, sam is a good bro, san junipero au, thanos gonna catch these hands, the soulworld is san junipero, they're trying, u kno what i mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:25:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewitchx/pseuds/rosewitchx
Summary: The afterlife is a time-traveling eternity. The dead can only agree on one thing: the afterlife is a bitch.Or, heaven is a place on the Soul Stone.





	1. 2009 - little peter

**Author's Note:**

> making something other than a one-shot? what, like it's hard?  
> remember there's a playlist for all my marvel stuff ooo [//here//](https://open.spotify.com/user/rosewitchx/playlist/2mDf4Nsz3vGyA24bGR6dAW?si=spFb3E3hQwaGkbOu-ra3WA)  
> i already know where i want this to go but i have to plan all the stuff in-between lol

The afterlife is a time-traveling eternity, but Peter still prefers to spend his time in 2009.

Sometimes, when the Avengers call him for a meeting, he'll go back to 2018; he can't go any further than that. No one can. Sometimes he'll travel away, through the past decades, needing to explore to clear his mind. But if you need to find Peter, you'll likely find him inside a small apartment, watching the only news that plays that year.

_"Tony Stark is Iron Man."_

It's November 25th, 2009. At least, according to the newscast. Peter's spent a lot of time watching the tv, watching as the sun rises and falls. But it always stays like that. There are movies from the future, from the past; there's good wi-fi even in the 1940s. But the tv in his living room always talks about Tony Stark.

("I am Iron Man," he claims. The audience stands up and roars. Tony grins. Little Peter stares up in admiration as his Uncle Ben shakes his head. It's the best day of Peter's year.)

("I just wanted to be like you," he claims. Mr. Stark stares at him and sighs. Peter might cry. Mr. Stark stares down at him, disappointed, shaking his head. It's the worst day of Peter's  _life._ )

Sometimes, he half-expects his uncle to step inside the apartment, carrying a bag of groceries. May will kiss him on the lips and Peter'll grimace, and they'll all laugh and have fun. But Ben isn't there, in the weird afterlife he's found himself in. Neither is May, nor MJ nor Ned. It's not Queens, he doesn't think the place exists at all. It's some weird, beachside town on an island. Mr. Loki told him, when they'd met, that it was called San Junipero.

Peter wanted to laugh when he heard that, but he was so emotionally drained from having just died that all that came out was a miserable wheeze. Figures that heaven would look like a place on Earth.

Mr. Stark and the original Avengers are missing, too. Peter's guess is that they're alive, but Mr. Doctor can't tell for sure.

They've already discussed it, those who remained: they can't go back by their own means. They haven't found a way. Mr. Doctor says they won't. So Peter does what he can and stays as Spider-man, roaming eternity and guarding those who he's failed.

 

They're all okay in there. It's... kinda obvious. There's no pain in the afterlife, no death when you're already dead. Or sort of dead. He isn't really sure.

When Mr. Doctor asks him how he's doing, he says "fine". When Sam, back from his nineties adventures, talks to him, he feigns a smile and listens with interest.

(What he doesn't tell is how the sea smells like ash and not like the sea. What he doesn't mention is how sometimes he wakes in complete agony, frozen but unfeeling. What he doesn't say is how sometimes, he sees Loki's bruised neck underneath his coat, or Gamora's jacket drenched in green blood, or the way Heimdall's eyes look empty instead of all-seeing.)

They're all okay, except they're not.

Because he's all alone in 2009, and Mr. Doctor is all alone in his penthouse, and the Guardians are together but shattered, and Bucky jumps through the eras in a desperate blur, and everyone barely comes together when there's an emergency or whenever Loki decides to prank 2012 again (it happens only once; it is in a desperate attempt to see his brother again, and it doesn't really get them anywhere at all). Because everyone in the city, all of the alien species making their lives in there, would rather be alone and fake happiness than deal with the fact that there's no coming back for them.

 

Liz visits, sometimes. She prefers 2013. But sometimes, she hangs out with him and Flash.

(They're the only decathlon members that made it to the weird beach town.)

They'll often meet in 2016, when things weren't screwed up and she hadn't moved away. They'll act like nothing has changed and they're still dumb and young. They'll play video games, listen to music and make fun of the silliest things they could think of.

But today, only Liz comes. She knocks on his apartment door in 2009 and doesn't wait for him to open.

He's there, of course he is. He stares at the ceiling from his bed. The tv is on; the same interview as always is just starting.

"Hey," she says. He doesn't reply. "Look, you can't keep ignoring me. Or the Avengers."

"Watch me," Peter replies. "I'm too busy drowning in my depression."

"They need you."

"No they don't. They're not any closer to getting us out of here, they're not even  _looking_ for a way out." He glances at her and it's then when she notices he's been crying. "I don't think they're looking for a way out there, either."

"Peter, you're an idiot."

She sits on the edge of his bed and holds his hand tight. He doesn't seem to mind. 

"Am I?," he whispers. "It's been six months today."

"How would you know?"

"I kept count." He shows her, later, the scratches he's left on his wooden bunk bed. Later, she traces a finger over all the scratches; later, she holds him as he cries. "They're not coming for us."

Liz looks at him, hiding her pain. "Do you think Stark would just leave you here? Or Ned, or your aunt?" She closes her hands into tight fists, her nails digging into her palms. "MJ's probably kicking the Avengers into working or something. Do you think the Captain wouldn't fight to get his friends back?"

"I dunno."  _Peter's a gigantic idiot,_ Liz decides. "They're probably busy dealing with half the universe being dead."

"They won't. They'll kill the jerk that did this, reverse this mess, and bring us home."

Peter wishes, right then, that he could believe her.

The tv says, loud and clear: "The truth is... I  _am_ Iron Man." He doesn't hear the roar of the interviewers, or see Mr. Stark's smirk. He just buries his head into his pillow and lets Liz pet his hair softly, pretending he'll be okay, pretending he has any say in the matter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: bucky raves in every decade, skips the seventies and gets called out


	2. 1991 - bucky and sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd hate to let you down so I'll let the waters rise  
> And drown my dull reflection in the naive expectation in your eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA, bucky is a self destructive idiot and i don't have the slightest clue on how to write sam

Bucky's waiting in line for some coffee in the mid-2010s when he feels a light tap on his shoulder. He sighs, annoyed, already knowing who it is. It's the only idiot that follows him around wherever he goes.

"Hey, Sam," he says, halfheartedly. Sam's not amused. Behind his shades, Bucky can make out his eyes glaring at him.

"I'm surprised you came here. You barely visit this century nowadays."

"Well, yeah, I was in the neighborhood."

"Dude, we're  _always_ in the neighborhood."

_I should have stayed in the eighties,_ Bucky thinks, exhausted already. He slips his metal hand into his jacket's pocket and pulls out his phone. "Have you been to the 1930s? They're cool. Heard there's a party there tonight."

"I have. Remember when you went and tried picking a fight with those drunk aliens."

"I would've won."

"Yeah, right. I'm not going there again. Why do you look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like...  _that_. You look like some dude from Instagram." That's the point. He'd gotten the look from some dude from Instagram. There's Instagram in heaven, everyone.

The queue moves forward as some dead Xandarian girl walks out, frappuccino in hand. Bucky takes a step forward and fixes his jean jacket's collar. "I'm a millennial fashion icon, Sam."

"You were born in the  _1910's,_ " Sam deadpans. "Not to mention a weirdo."

"But I'm a millennial in spirit. And I dress better than you."

It's always like this. Sam finds Bucky, Bucky tries to deflect, they end up arguing and Bucky eventually flees the era. Because that's his thing; he rarely spends more than a day on a single year. Yesterday, he was raving in '87; last week he was swinging around the ladies in 1941. It's a miracle, actually, that Sam's found him so soon since the last time two weeks ago, when he dragged his sorry, absolutely wasted ass out of a dumpster in 1998.

"Look, man," Sam starts, but Buck isn't having it. He steps forward again; this time, it's a green alien similar to Gamora who walks out, taking huge sips out of his steaming hot cup. Bucky orders himself the weirdest thing off-menu and a latte for Sam, which used to make him curious, but nowadays Sam's just tired of his shit. "You're not bribing me. You can't keep doing this, it's not healthy."

Bucky sighs. "Can't you just let me be? I'm not hurting anyone. I  _can't_ hurt anyone here."

"You're hurting  _yourself._ What, you think— living in a rush never ends well. You're trying to regain control, but all it's doing is make you self-destruct." Sam grabs his latte and squints at Bucky. "C'mon, man. You think Steve would like seeing you like this?"

" _Steve_  isn't here," he spits back. His metal hand grabs the counter so tightly it cracks, though the alien lady behind it doesn't seem to mind. His other hand reaches for the honest-to-god unicorn frappuccino. He takes a sip out of it and grimaces as he walks out of the local, Sam still tailing him. "He's out there, all alone, and there's nothing I can do to help him."

"So instead you're just going to let all your progress go to waste?"

"Why not?," Bucky sighs, and for a moment he doesn't look anything other than lost. "Look. I have control over myself. I know what I'm  _doing._ Steve isn't coming, Hydra can't touch me here, so fuck off."

"I'm just worried about you, man."

The confession slips out of Sam's mouth as they sit down on a table. Bucky just looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

_Better just keep going._ "You mean a lot to me, okay? I'm worried you might not come back up so easily if you fall again."

"Aww, Wilson, didn't know ya felt that way 'bout me." He takes another sip of his monstrosity of a drink and  _laughs._ "Have a little faith in me. I can handle myself."

"No you can't."

"Fuck you, man." But Bucky's grinning, and the weigh on Sam's shoulders feels a little lighter.

"Just try to tone it down a bit, okay?"

"I'll try, I guess."

 

A few days pass before Sam gets called by Hank Pym. He's utterly  _annoyed,_ and reasonably so, because there's a drunk super soldier passed out on his couch.

So Sam has to travel to the seventies, get into Pym's dumb beachside hut, pull Bucky from his drunken dreams, and come back home. He's more than a little angry at him.

1991 is a weird year to have a home in. It's about to get weirder. He dumps Bucky on  _his_  couch and glares at him as he giggles. 

"Hey, Sammy, what year's this?" His voice drawls long, drowned by the cushion his face is covered by. 

"Ninety-one. Sit up." Sam pushes a glass of water at him, and Bucky takes it reluctantly. His metal arm doesn't seem to function that well when he's intoxicated. His words do seem to put him on edge, as he's a bit more alert after hearing Sam speak.

Sam doesn't think too much of it.

Later, when Bucky's doing a bit better, he says, "I killed Stark's parents."

Sam looks up from his newspaper. He does a double take at Bucky, frowning. "What?"

Bucky sighs, hiding behind the cushions. "I did. When I worked for HYDRA. They— Howard was too close.  _December sixteen, nineteen ninety-one._ " He rubs at his face, and it's then when Sam realizes he's been crying silently for a while now. "That's why Tony—  _Stevie knew_ , and he didn't— Gh."

Silence fills the apartment. It's a tense sensation, only disturbed by the rumble of a party downstairs. Sam puts down the paper and regards his friend.

"You know that wasn't your fault, right?"

"I still did it. I still remember all of them."

Bucky shudders. He's somehow managed to look like he shrank to peter's size; he's so small on Sam's couch. "HYDRA fucked you up.  _They_ are accountable for that. And Steve, for being a dumbass. Also, I'm going to kick his ass once we get out of here."

"Steve's not a dumbass."

"He  _is_ , and a very big one at that." Sam looks up, at the ceiling. "Please stop beating yourself over this. It's... It's not fair for you. What happened to you, it was fucked up, it was  _outside your control._ You're not under HYDRA anymore. You don't have to  _prove it._ "

Bucky just stares at him like he's Jesus Christ or something.

 

It doesn't really mean anything, because the next time Sam sees Bucky it's in 1967, joining some Sovereign guys at a party and making Sam lose all hope in the universe for a moment.

Before gathering his energies and jumping back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please do yourself a favor and listen to idle worship + no friend live. tell me that shit aint A BANGER  
> next chap: loki is a stupid brother and an even worse king


	3. 1023 - loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cowards lock up themselves, waiting for the end  
> Licking their wounds while others go unhealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA, loki is sad and blames himself and the only reason he hasn't died is that he's already dead

So he's king of Asgard. What's left of it.

Not really.

Upon dying, he hadn't been sure what to expect. Maybe Valhalla, having died defending his people ( _home_ ), but he wasn't sure. He wasn't technically Aesir, and he wasn't sure if he counted at all. He could already picture it: his father slamming the doors to heaven at his face.

Whatever. He didn't want it. Couldn't  _ever_ want it, anyway; he'd done terrible things, against his people, against other realms. He didn't  _deserve_ heaven. He deserved hell, pain, everything Thanos had promised him.

But no. Instead of heaven, instead of Hel, he woke up on a Midgardian beach, half his people already on board, as Heimdall struggled to keep the order.

( _His neck burned terribly, bruises blossoming all over it. He wheezed with every breath he took. His voice was deeply broken. Heimdall helped him regain his breath; he didn't mention the tears or the panic attacks, nor did he ever speak of the way he flinched at loud noises or thunderstorms at night._ )

The Asgardians weren't the first massacred by the Titan. Loki knew this, of course; he just didn't know the  _extent_ of Thanos' murder sprees.

The Asgardians first crossed paths with the Xandarians. A young woman had approached them, blood splattered on her white sundress, and welcomed them into their strange afterlife. She'd asked for their leader; Loki, still wounded, had still walked forward.

( _He's not king, he tells her. He's the prince. The king is alive. So is his knight, the Valkyrie, and a few surviving members of his people. He does not know anything else. She looks at him with tired, understanding, incredibly grey eyes and doesn't speak a word._ )

The Xandarians are kind. They explain the mechanics of the world to them: one can switch ages once per hour, to any year until the current day. No one can leave the island, but somehow it isn't fully populated, even with all the races Thanos has already decimated. It isn't the same afterlife for everyone, either, but Loki had already guessed this when he'd seen his people next to him in that purgatory. Technology from different eras can converge. One can't die ( _quite obviously, Loki thinks_ ) but can feel pain if they so desire; they can experience anything they'd like. Everything one can imagine can be created.

The Xandarians tell him the name of the timeless city.  _San Junipero._

The Xandarians have already set themselves on the fifties; Loki and Heimdall fix Asgard further back, when the city is barely a village and there's enough room to build their golden home anew.

1023.

 

Loki barely has had any time to settle, tending to his wounds inside a  _tent,_ when the  _rest_  start pouring in.

A young kid had rushed in, alarmed; a lot of people were appearing on the pristine beach. And sure they were: sobbing, confused messes dropping on their shore.

Loki casts a glamour over himself, concealing his bruises, and starts giving orders to his people to aid the waves of victims, but soon it's obvious that it's just too many, and Loki realizes Thanos must have succeeded.

He sends Heimdall (who's strangely grown blind to the universe) with the Xandarians, trying to make any sense of what is happening, when he spots a familiar red cape. His heart drops. Is Thor dead? He can't be, can he?

So he pushes aliens of all races aside and pulls at the cape.

The Midgardian wizard looks back at him, tired. Defeated.

Relief floods Loki for a second before bitterness replaces it. "Did he win?" ( _Is my brother dead? Has his spark faded? Is he_ ** _dead_** _, wizard?_ )

The wizard tears his gaze away. "I need you to help me locate the Avengers."

" _Answer_ me." He tells himself the desperation in his voice isn't too obvious.

There's no reply for a moment, and then, "yes. But only for the time being."

Loki blinks. "What?"

"I'll explain later. When we're all reunited. Help me locate the rest."

Loki complies, if only for the way his heart would ache if he stayed put and drowned in his thoughts.

 

They don't find Thor. It seems he's not there ( _which is a relief_ ). Instead, they split; Strange looks for the Avengers that were on Earth, while Loki is tasked with finding the Guardians of the Galaxy. He doesn't know much about them except that one of them is Thanos' daughter.

( _He hates her so much. He remembers her, watching impassively as the Titan broke him over and over again. He remembers her cold, fleeting gaze as they passed each other in a hurry. Yes, he remembers her. He remembers how she did_ ** _nothing_** _as he and her siblings and all the other souls under Thanos' control suffered._ )

He finds her and her partner inside a cafeteria in the late eighties. They're making out inside a booth, crying and weeping as if they didn't just die a few hours ago. He rolls his eyes, holds back his snark, and manages to convince them to go meet with the wizard.

Then he finds the other two, the weird alien girl and the Destroyer, thanks to Gamora's Lover's descriptions. They'd been searching frantically for the youngest of them, Groot, and their other friend, a raccoon. ( _Don't ask. Loki doesn't know what he'd tell you._ ) He can only help them find the teenager, who somehow clings to him after he'd managed to speak to him in what he remembered of his language.

And then, when he's returned to his people, he goes on a walk on the seashore and finds a crying child.

He's wearing a worn-out suit of metal, but it obviously doesn't function as it should. Not that the boy cares; his face is crumpled up, tears flood out of his eyes, and he stares into the sunset as he silently mourns himself (probably) or his family (also likely).

He almost turns around and runs away, but he stops. He doesn't know why.

( _Maybe it's the way he looks so lost. The way he looks so frail, so young and yet not innocent anymore. It reminds him of Odin's vault of treasures, a cold winter, a lie—_ )

"Excuse me," Loki says, accidentally startling the child. He flinches and immediately jumps into a fighting stance, which, well, barely does anything other than putting the prince on the tiniest of edges and amusing him. "I won't eat you, you know."

The boy deflates almost instantly. He regards him for a second, taking in Loki's clothes and then, somehow, staring at his neck. "It's, uh," he sniffles, suddenly realizing he'd been seen crying, "your neck. Purple."

Loki freezes. A child had seen through his illusion so easily. He quickly builds up  _another_ spell, concealing it even better ( _he got too comfortable; what if the wizard had noticed, what if_ ** _anyone had noticed, and just didn't say anything, mocking his foolish death_** )

"Sorry," the kid mutters, "I didn't- mean to. Scare you."

" _Scare_ me?" Loki's quite frankly dismayed, really, that his words came out a bit too frail to pass as snark. Carefully, he sits next to the boy. "I'm, well, actually surprised you saw through that."

( _Why are you telling him that._ ** _Weak._** _Stop it._ )

The kid doesn't really reply to that, which considering Loki just confessed his fears to him, is a little disappointing. So Loki doesn't say anything else.

"I like your helmet," the boy says.

"Of course." A pause. "Your armor. It's interesting."

"I know, right?" His eyes seem to lighten up just a little; it warms Loki's cold dead heart. ( _It doesn't._ ) "Mr. Stark made it."

" _Stark?_ " Loki sneers. "You mean the Iron Man?"

"Uh... you know him?"

Loki just looks at him. He  _does_ look similar to the Mechanic. Maybe this boy was his progeny. "Are you his child?"

"What? No, I—  _what?_ "

"It would explain why he made you an armor."

"No, man. I'm— I'm not his  _son._ "

But the kid's shoulders slump again, and Loki fears he's ruined whatever progress he'd made. So he tries a different approach.

"I'm Loki," he says.

The kid recognizes the name. He  _should;_ he did try to conquer his home. But he doesn't recoil away from him, he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he huffs, and then replies, "I'm Peter."

"It's a pleasure."

Peter looks at Loki and nods.

They talk for a while. About inconsequential subjects. He tells him what the Xandarians told him; where they are, how does it work. He tells him the name of the timeless city; Peter stares at him like he's just said a terrible joke. He tells him when the Avengers are reunited, but Peter, whom Loki presumes is one, doesn't want to go yet for some reason. He doesn't mention New York, or the fact that they're all dead, or how he hadn't found Stark yet. Instead, he listens as the kid tells him about his boyfriend, his friends, his aunt.

(His failures hang in the air, thick. Peter wouldn't have been wearing an armor if he hadn't been in battle. Loki wouldn't have a bruised neck if he hadn't been killed in the dumbest way possible.)

Loki tells him about Val, the best warrior he's ever met, comparable even to Lady Sif; and he talks about Bruce. Peter freaks out; he's a huge fan of Dr. Banner, and he's always been such an inspiration to him. Loki finds it amusing. He talks about Heimdall, like a father to him, and talks about his  _actual,_ trashier father, Odin.

He talks about Thor.

He tells Peter, as the sun falls, stories from his childhood. How Thor was so gullible and how fun it was to play pranks on him. How terrible it was to be in the sun's shadow. How beautiful it was to be a shining star next to him.

(King of a dead people, god of thunder, left for dead in space.  _Maybe he went to Valhalla,_ Loki tries to convince himself, but it isn't really working. Maybe he stayed there. Floating in the cold void forever. Maybe he's been found. Does he know what has happened? Will he ever know?)

"I should have tried harder," Loki says. "I died the most hilariously foolish death of all ages."

_And because of that, millions of beings died. And because of that, my people died. (And because of that, we died.)_

Peter just stares at him, exhausted, as the moon rises. "Mr. Loki," he says, even though he's told him to stop it with the honorifics, "it wasn't your fault."

"It was," Loki insists. "If I hadn't taken the Tesseract in the first place—"

"Thanos— he was  _too strong_ , dude. It's a miracle we made it as far as we did."

"My people are dead because of me," he spits out. He feels like he might throw up. "Thor is all alone. He's an  _idiot,_ he'll blame himself."

"He might," Peter agrees. "Like Mr. Stark. He blames himself for a lot of things. But that doesn't mean it was his fault, or— or yours."

Loki squints at him.

"I should have killed him when I had the chance," he says.

"Join the club. We have cookies and self-loathing."

"I'm not joining your friends. I'm not interested in dressing like a buffoon and thinking I can too save the worlds."

_I can't. How can I? I've destroyed worlds. I'm no savior._

"Mr. Loki," Peter says, "aren't you gonna avenge your friends? Aren't you avenging  _yourself_?"

Loki nods, stiffly, and wipes at his eye discreetly. He had never thought of it that way. Of course, he wanted Thanos to pay. He would avenge himself and his people in his brother's name. "I thought that was obvious."

"Then you're an Avenger," Peter finishes, giving him a frail smile, and Loki thinks his heart might just give in right now.

And, if by any chance, he starts openly sobbing, well, it's not like the child will tell anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the hot daga. that is all  
> this chapter's song is aún by la vida boheme. do urself a favor and listen to it even though it's in spanish. actually listen to la vida boheme period.   
> next chap: you guys call the police on me. i make a daring escape


	4. //tony stark - I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amethyst and flowers on the table, is it real or a fable?  
> Well, I suppose a friend is a friend  
> And we all know how this will end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA, a brief insight into how the outside world is faring.

A mess. That's what he is. A mess.

(but he can fix it. right?)

He's decidedly avoiding Steve. He doesn't want to handle that right now — the anxiety of seeing him after all that's happened would certainly send him spiraling again. He can't afford that. There's no time. Every day that passes he loses hope a little more. If he loses hope, he'll lose it all. If he loses hope—

He's not really sure what will be left of him.

So he avoids Steve. Avoids everyone he can, actually; he's only really talking to Bruce and Shuri nowadays, and Rhodey if he insists. Only when it's absolutely necessary. They're working, non-stop, trying to figure out what to do, just  _what can we do_ , as if it were as easy as building another suit or creating another AI.

(speaking of ais, he totally lost some when thanos did  _that_. he's not sure he wants to know the specifics of why that was a thing. all he knows is that he only has karen in working order now and hearing her voice makes him want to die.)

 _W_ _hat can we do,_ he asks himself every second he breathes. He thinks of a million formulas, of hundreds of thousands of theories and theorems, but he can't make them fit, he can't make them  _work—_

He feels like he's choking. How is he going to make this work? He  _wishes_ it would all fit, but it doesn't; he manages to tie a few strings together before it all comes undone, time and time again. Pepper would've told him to go sleep, that it would all be clearer in the morning, but Pepper's dead, so what does she know.

Pepper's dead, ashes lost to the new york winds. Peter's dead, his remains forever staining Tony's fingers.

Tony collapses on his desk, sheets of paper staining with his tears and ink spills painting his skin, as he breaks down. No one says anything about it; not Bruce, hands shaking as he struggles not to cry too, not Shuri, who's been crying nonstop since they arrived. He's incredibly grateful to them for that.

He's a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one's so short. i'm finishing up my semester and also dying inside from my depression and crushing loneliness but i'm alright! i'm fine. fake it till ya make it yadda yadda yall know the drill  
> this chapter's song is death with dignity by sufjan stevens which has promptly been added to _**[The Playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/user/rosewitchx/playlist/2mDf4Nsz3vGyA24bGR6dAW?si=hmiNFybxRt2OyxMI6vU1-Q)**_
> 
> coming up next: workaholic mom is a mom and kicks some ass


	5. 2018 - pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to put your faith in something more  
> I'm just a girl and you're not as alone as you feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA, Pepper Potts is the spark of hope. Also, everyone realizes something kinda obvious.

Pepper kept working.

She had no other choice, she felt. Work gave her clearness, even when it served no purpose. She helped organize humanity into the city. She helped the Fallen Avengers put some degree of order. She helped them think of a  _plan._

 _What would Tony do?_  Often, she asked herself this. She tried to think like him, as if it would somehow grant her with his brains and stubbornness, to stare into their defeat and rise anew from it with sheer spite.

But she wasn't Tony, all broken wings and tired smiles. She didn't have his grease-stained hands nor his scarred chest. She didn't have marks all over her body or a shattered heart behind titanium walls; she was Virginia Potts, she was Pepper, and all Pepper had was a pretty face and determination.

(Not genius of her own, no, neither did she have incredible compassion and scars of her own. She didn't have fire and flames running through her veins, threatening to burn it all down every single second Tony was outside her reach, doing something stupid like he always did. She'd never stood up to a man in a metal suit, had never flown and fired and rescued. She had never,  _ever_ been his savior, his knight in shining armor. She'd never been more than just Pepper.)

But Pepper had him, once.

When she closed her eyes, she saw him, smiling at her like he'd never seen the light without her before. She saw him rambling about the Accords, or the Avengers, or Peter or his next invention, always so passionate about his things. She saw him flying through the sky, crashing to the earth; she saw him wake from his nightmares and she saw him forcing himself to sleep.

None of the other Avengers ever saw. Nat came close. Peter saw it all, saw his broken edges and raw emotions, but Peter wasn't there when Afghanistan happened, or when he sent a nuke to space and almost didn't come back. He could never understand.

( _Peter died in his arms,_ a tiny voice reminds her.  _He saw him blaming himself, he saw him burning down like a forest fire and couldn't do anything about it. He probably understands better than you._ )

When she closed her eyes, she saw a pregnancy test and her hands turning to dust. She saw a spaceship fleeing Earth as Tony exited FRIDAY's range. She saw May, unbelievably upset at her, as Ned tried to calm her down, even though Pepper could see him freaking out too. She wondered how they were feeling, how  _Tony_ was feeling; were they broken? Were they working to fix it or falling apart over it? 

(She'd seen the Fallen Avengers. She'd seen Strange, barely holding them together, the conflicts and cracks from their living days still running deep, separating them and straining their efforts. She'd seen the Guardians, struggling to figure out their place in all of it. She'd seen Peter, acting like Tony once did, which really wasn't saying much.)

Well, Pepper wasn't gonna fall apart. No, sir. Who'd run the company? Tony could barely cook an egg. Who'd watch over Tony, make sure he didn't end up destroying himself as he often tended to? Rhodey and Happy were good and told him what to do, but at the end of the day, Tony never listened to anyone. Who'd rescue him when he was down? Who'd tell him it would all be alright?

Pepper would. Pepper always had. So she needed to get out of there.

So she kept working.

There were ashes inside her lungs, but flames through her veins. She had no suit of armor, but she still was his knight. So, wearing heels every day, she dragged the Fallen Avengers into their building, as many as she could track down. They'd work, not on finding a way out, but on understanding their surroundings as they were. She often invited scientists into their meetings, heroes of all worlds; they had different perspectives, could help them understand their environment better.

 _W_ _hat can we do,_ she asked herself every second she breathed. She thought of a million words, of hundreds of thousands of ways and routes to take, but she couldn't make them fit, she couldn't make them  _work—_

But the others could make sense of her words. They understood her thoughts and converted them to formulas, to theories that ended up wrong but theories nonetheless.

Seven months and a half after their arrival, they came to a realization.

It was Jane Foster who first noticed, stopping mid-rant to stare at the ceiling. "Holy  _shit,_ " she stammered out, and it was this what caught Pepper's attention: Jane never cursed.

She then proceeded to explain her idea. Everyone froze as they slowly understood what that theory meant; Strange questioned it, not completely sold. FRIDAY, always vigilant, was already making calculations, trying to figure it out. Good thing  _Gamora_ , of all people,had decided to come on that particular day.

"It's possible," she said. "More than likely."

The news spread like the wildfire inside her.

The next day, their reunion room was filled to the brim with allies. Bucky was there, wearing some rose sunglasses indoors and eating soft-serve. Peter, too, leaning against a wall and somehow looking both undone and perfectly fine.

He'd reached for her sleeve as she tried to make her way through the sea of people.

"Is it true?," he'd asked, hope barely hidden inside his eyes. "Are we _—_ is this really inside the Soul Stone?"

"Yes."

He'd taken in a deep breath. "What now?"

"We need to find a way out. Or to send a message, so they know we're here."

"A message." Peter thought for a second, then nodded. "We _— we can manage that._ "

And then he smiled,  _really smiled_ , for the first time since they'd found him with Loki, and gave her a hug.

So Pepper kept working.

When she closed her eyes, she saw Peter's own eyes, glimmering with his very last hopes. She saw Bucky's carefully-concealed tears, and heard Sam's quiet whispers of home. She saw Strange, and Peter's friends, and Jane and Loki somehow becoming friens over their circumstances. She saw the Guardians bickering, the Fallen Avengers rising.

Pepper kept working.

She had no other choice. She wasn't Tony, all broken wings and tired smiles; she was Pepper, ignited in the dark and burning Icarus. She was a knight, a savior, a messenger.  

And for now, she choked down the dust inside of her, the fear threatening to drown her out, as she kept going forward.

After all: she was Virginia Potts, she was Pepper. And all she had was the furnace inside her heart and thousands of super-powered individuals from across the universe as her allies.

(Thanos better get ready.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idle worship is a jam... ive already said this but its true  
> i'm depressed lmao,,,, im boutta Relapse and im not sure i dont want to
> 
> but anyway
> 
> coming up next: a plan?


End file.
